


Horror at Haumond

by samwise_baggins



Series: Islinne Weyr [2]
Category: CSI: Miami, Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Child Abuse, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins
Summary: Huaratio's brother is out of control, but his father is even more so. Trapped in the middle is a young man trying to find his destiny. 3370.10.12 to 3379.12.09
Series: Islinne Weyr [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898998
Kudos: 10





	Horror at Haumond

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: AU 10th pass: Huamond Cothold (of Telgar Hold) and Telgar Weyr

Huamond Cothold, Telgar Hold: 3370.10.12; midday; (09.21.1970)

The sound of boot leather against wood reverberated in time to the shouts issuing from behind the closed door. In the tiny cothold, the screams and sobs were at an almost unbearable pitch. When he wanted something, nothing stopped the tantrum until he got it.

"I want it! Now! A dragon! I want a dragon!" The young voice of the six-turn-old was reaching an almost hysterical level.

The man present glared at his wife and older son, Hauratio, shaking his head angrily, warning them away from going to the aid of the younger boy. The pair watched as the man, Huadrae, stormed over to the reverberating door, shouting above the sound of his young son. "Shut up you sharding dimwit! I'll come in there and give you something to scream about!"

Huaratio watched as his mother, Montia's, hands went to cover her mouth in horror. Her thoughts were obvious _"What has he done?"_ Her fearful eyes met that of her older boy, and his thoughts were equally clear, _"If he doesn't get quiet soon, Huadrae will tan his hide with that thick wherhide belt he keeps hanging over the door."_

The ten-turn-old boy turned his eyes towards his sire, watching intently, fists clenched in his lap, hidden under the worn wooden table in the center of the small room. This would happen on the very day he was supposed to be going to work the fields for the first time; now, before showing his sire he could work like a man, he'd have to try to quiet the rising tension caused by the other boy. Huaratio ignored his little brother's words for the most part; it never mattered what the boy claimed he wanted, he'd scream and kick and hit whether he got it or not. What the older boy did concentrate on was the man's actions, judging if he'd become angry enough to get violent, as so often happened. He tried to will the man to back off, go to the fields and finish the harvesting, leave the small family alone.

The ranting penetrated everyone's thoughts, however.

"I . . . want . . . a . . . dra . . . gon!" Each syllable was punctuated by the slamming of both young fists on the hardwood door.

Frowning, the older boy watched Montia twist her hands in her well-worn apron, afraid of not showing enough support for her often violent spouse. Finally cracking under the pressure, though it was signing her son's punishment, she called, "What can we do now, Huadrae? He'll break the door again with his ranting. We have to stop it." She turned scared eyes to her son's door.

"I'll stop it!" The tall man easily reached above the outside door of the small cothold, grabbing the dreaded belt and snapping it ominously in his strong, work-worn hands. After only two steps, his momentum was arrested by the swift movement of his older boy slipping protectively in front of the bedroom door.

"No, Huadrae! It was me . . . I put him up to it. I . . . I'm the one that wants the dragon." The ten-turn-old red-head gulped down the rising terror he felt at seeing the anger in his sire's eyes. He barreled on, intent on saving the younger boy from his coming beating. "I thought if Raemond said he wanted it, we could get it. I . . . I'm sorry, Sir."

Stilling, man and boy watched one another, seizing each other up. Angry green eyes glared down into pleading blue ones. It was as if all other people, all other sounds, faded away at the unequal battle of the wills. It didn't take long for the man to exert his control in the most vicious of ways: he swung the heavy belt in a wide arc, slamming the thick wherhide against the slim boy's shoulder and sending the child reeling to his knees.

Huaratio bit his lip to keep the scream back, ignoring the metallic tang of blood that caressed his tongue.

Panting with exertion, the mid-day heat sapping even the most anger-fueled energy, the man growled out threateningly, "You want a dragon, do you? We'll see about such notions . . ."

"Huadrae, no, please!" The pleading voice of Montia broke in, instantly drawing her son's shocked gaze. He shook his head, trying to signal her to keep out of this; his sire would hit anyone who crossed him, and Huaratio wanted to spare his mother that pain, as much as he wanted to protect his younger brother. His mother ignored him, desperately trying to protect her child. "He doesn't mean harm by it. He . . . he thinks you can do anything, you're that good a provided." Naturally, the blatant praise was over-the-top, but it had worked on rare occasions in the past, perhaps it would serve this time as well.

For a very long moment, things hung in the balance. Huadrae lifted his belt high, eyeing first his disobedient wife then his equally disrespectful son. Finally, he lowered his arm, giving in to the enervating heat, choosing to glare at his spouse to let her know he was still very much in control.

"Can't very well give the lad a dragon now, can we? Dragons don't just grow on beaches after all. Gotta go to a Weyr for one, and Telgar Weyr's not as close as it could be." The man shook his head, dark auburn hair flipping tiredly in the midday heat. "'Sides, I gotta go back out to work now. Tell him I'm trying to get his dragon. It'll quiet him down till I get home at least." Obviously he hadn't believed the request was for his older boy at all.

Turning the glare on his older son, the man flicked his wrist, sending the wherhide slapping against itself in a chilling warning. "And if you lie to me again, lad, you'll get worse'n what that brat would have gotten. I got no call to work besides a liar. Stay here and tend the house like the other useless girls." With that, the tall man flung the belt away from him and strode angrily out into the hot midday sun, angrily ignoring the still reverberating echoes of his youngest's tantrum.

The pair watched nervously as the man left the cot. Turning worried eyes on his mother, whose fearful eyes were on the shaking door, Huaratio tried to get together the courage to yell louder than his brother. Swallowing, the boy stood on shaky feet, but before he could do anything else, his mother's voice broke loudly over the noise.

"Raemond! Huadrae's out looking for your dragon right now. Hear me? He'll be home tonight." It was obvious she hoped her willful son would listen to her. He was getting rather too large for anyone to comfortably excuse these tantrums . . . not that his sire had ever excused anything, and defending the boy often ended in a severely painful beating for the other household members. Maybe that was the trouble? Not enough discipline? After all, he'd been the youngest of only two surviving children in a long line of miscarriages, and neither mother nor older brother had wanted to make the boy unhappy.

The shouting thankfully ended. Montia smiled hesitantly, but Huaratio wondered if Raemond was simply marshalling his strength for a new onslaught. However, the door simply opened upon a six-turn-old face.

Like his older brother, the little boy's auburn hair was past his shoulders, though stringy and wet from his tears. Blue eyes, so often stormy in anger, watched his family almost coldly. Again like his brother, Raemond was already good looking, showing early promise of topping his sire's six feet of muscled height. Stepping out of his room, the child displayed that his clothes were rumpled and even torn from his fit.

"I want a dragon."

The tone was actually quite calm and reasonable . . . and that scared the pair more than any of Raemond's frequent tantrums. That he could switch from ranting and banging and total anger to this rational, calculating mood was eerie to say the least. Neither wanted to begin to think what he might be like full-grown.

Nodding, Montia wrung her apron more thoroughly. "Yes; Huadrae said he was going to check into that. He left promising to have news tonight when he returned. Would you like some lunch? You threw the breakfast against the wall and haven't had anything to eat since."

Not even glancing at the stained wall, Raemond walked into the kitchen area to sit across from his brother at the small table. He waited quietly and patiently as his mother shuffled in and busied herself preparing his food. The boy seemed easily able to ignore her frightened nonsensical chatter as he watched her moving about the tiny room, though his eyes fastened onto his older brother's intent gaze, holding there.

The sight of stains and broken objects was a common one in Huamond Cothold. After all, Raemond had been divulged for turns. If he was ignored or rebuffed, a tantrum broke out. Each fit was worse than the last, it seemed, and each fit terrified his mother more. His father would move to beat the boy and instead wind up punishing his older boy for getting in the way, or his wife for talking back. Raemond always got what he wanted in the end though . . . it was as if the child were rewarded for finding a way to enable his father to vent his anger, though no one really believed that.

**************

Huamond Cothold, Telgar Hold: 3370.10.12; mid-afternoon; (09.21.1970)

As Montia set plates of food before her sons, the sudden opening of the outside door startled all three. They turned in unison to watch Huadrae enter carrying a sack gingerly. The sack was normally used for the man's lunch. Today, however, the lunch was all but forgotten in his pockets as he carefully laid the overfull parcel before his youngest son. "Here you are, Raemond. I had to make some hard bartering for this here egg, but it's yours." A rare pleased smile graced the handsome face as he waited in anticipation for the boy's reaction to the generous gift.

Nervously, Montia twisted her hands in her apron, waiting for her son to do or say something. They had marks, the cot was prosperous, but that egg would have cost more than anyone could expect a cotholder to spare.

Huaratio broke the tableau first, carefully reaching over and opening the sack, revealing a mottled egg nestled in hot sand. His breath caught and he lifted his yearning blue eyes to his sire, wondering how this miracle had come to be.

For his part, the six-turn-old stared at the sack in silence for all of a minute before slowly lifting cold grey blue to meet delighted green ones. "I want a dragon," he enunciated carefully, as if for a dimwitted child. "This egg is a firelizard egg. I hate firelizards."

Montia half-sobbed, fearfully backing away in preparation of another tantrum. Huaratio stiffened, trying to think of a way to soothe the situation. Cold fury swept over Huadrae's features, making the resemblance between father and son quite remarkably uncanny. He slammed a hand on the table in a gesture so reminiscent of Raemond's earlier tirade, everyone, including the wayward boy, jumped.

"Montia, take this here egg and give it to the Harper when he comes in. He'll be finishing his summer circuit soon, and will be glad of the companion."

Without a word to break the unrelenting gaze between man and boy, Montia nodded and grabbed the lunch sack, still spilling warm sand. She all but ran out of the cothold to locate the traveling Harper from Telgar Hold. The woman didn't even look back to see what would happen to her volatile family.

Watching his mother leave in dawning horror, Huaratio quickly stood and called out, "I'd like the egg, Huadrae. Please?" He privately thought firelizards were stupid, flighty things, but keeping the peace was more important at the moment. Fear continued to rise as he realized that his sire either hadn't heard him or was ignoring him; the man was locked in a staring contest with the younger boy.

Finally, the threatening silence was broken by the cold, angry voice of the man. "If you don't want a firelizard, fine. You will not get one by me. You want a dragon? Let me tell you about dragons, my lad. You have to go to a Weyr to get a dragon. You have to be a candidate. You have to walk past all the large dragons onto sands hotter than that there fire and let the queen dragon look you over. And if she don't like what she sees, she goes in your mind and looks at your heart and soul. And if she don't like what she sees there, well, she simply tells the Weyrwoman to send you home. And you live the rest of your life in shame for having wasted a gold dragon's precious time and insulted her eggs. We live in shame for your insult to the Weyr." He crossed his arms glaring at the boy.

"Huadrae, I'd like the egg." It was a risky endeavor, breaking in on this contest, but Huaratio was intent on directing their sire's anger away from the small boy across from him. Again, he went ignored.

"Okay. Make me a candidate." Raemond's voice was reasonable, as if he were asking for redfruit with his lunch.

Huadrae rocked back on his heels and actually laughed at his son. "Make you a candidate? Make you a candidate? I can't do that. Only a goldrider can do that, laddo. And that means you gotta go to a Weyr . . . "

Raemond interrupted his father. "Take me to the Weyr." His brother dreadfully looked up to the normally angry man, waiting for the inevitable attack. It didn't come . . . yet.

Shaking his head, but seeing a way to thwart his willful boy, Huadrae slipped into a chair next to his older red-haired son. "Can't do that. See, you need marks for that. Need marks to be a candidate." He wasn't bothered in the least that he was lying to the boy. After all, in this small out-of-the-way cot, no one would be around to contradict what he was saying. "You need a hundred marks to be a candidate."

The boy didn't look away from his father. He simply mulled the problem over in his mind then nodded once. Crossing his arms, he gave a triumphant grin. "Give me a hundred marks."

A stormy frown suddenly swept away the unusual jovial mood. Slowly beginning to stand, Huadrae towered over his sons, building anger flashing in his green eyes. "What!"

"Let me earn them, Huadrae."

Stilling, the man turned his head to glare down at the older boy by his side. In a dangerous voice, he growled, "What did you say, whelp?"

Gulping, but not backing down, Huaratio placed his hands flat to the table, pressing down to hide their sudden shaking. He bravely met his sire's piercing glare and wet his lips. "I'll earn the marks for Raemond's dragon, Sir."

"How dare you make sport of me!" Huadrae raised a hand and backhanded the ten-turn-old across the face. There was a horrible crunching sound as the chair beneath him cracked under the sudden onslaught, the boy sent sprawling on the dirt floor of the cothold.

Raising his head, ignoring his cut, bruising cheek, the boy pleased, "I'm not making game, Huadrae. By the shell, I'm not! I mean it. I'll keep Raemond in line for you and do whatever it is you want me to, and you can pay me like a hired worker."

The raised hand froze, green eyes piercing blue. Slowly, the man lowered his hand, now ignoring the cold stare of his youngest to think over the words of his eldest. With a slow nod, seeing the benefits and possible penalties, he grinned maliciously. "Deal, boy." With a viscous tug, the man pulled the boy to his feet and ignored the child as he gripped the worn table to balance himself. "You keep the brat in line, and not a peep out of you, and I'll pay you . . ." here he thought of what he could get away with for a wage. After all, the older boy wasn't stupid, and if he were being hired on, even in his own cothold, an unfair wage might make the lad run to the Harper for arbitration. That wouldn't do at all. Finally, he hit upon what might sound fair to a ten-turn-old who'd never worked before. "I'll pay you a thirty-second mark every evening."

With a nervous gulp, Huaratio looked up at the towering figure beside him. He tried to speak, found he could only squeak, then tried again, wetting his lips once more. "A thirty-second mark every evening, Sir?" He didn't know exactly what game his sire was playing; after all, the boy hadn't really thought the man would take him seriously. Trying to sound mature beyond his tender turns, he finally nodded. "A fair price. This work consists of what, Sir? Caring for and teaching Raemond. What work would I be doing around the cothold, Sir?"

Delight suddenly ran through the man. Oh, if this worked even for a little while, he'd have peace and quiet. Of course, if it didn't, he could always punish the lad for breaking contract; the older boy didn't cry or scream nearly half as much as the younger, and so it would be easier to just discipline him and let it go at that, instead of this big production that always ensued when the younger acted up.

"I want you tending your brother and working in the barn. You'll be doing the hide work as well as stalls and feeding and such. You tend the animals and their gear and that boy, and you'll get your pay fair." He crossed his arms in satisfaction, but just as quickly uncrossed them when the lad replied by shoving out his hand.

"Deal, Sir. If Raemond ever leaves this cot, the contract is over. Until then, I'll care for the animals and the boy for one thirty-second mark to be paid each evening, supper time." Huaratio felt a small stiffening in his spine, as if this respectful treatment by the man who had tormented his first ten turns was enough to give him a sense of worth he'd never known before. He was a little surprised, and very much delighted, when the man slowly reached out and crossed palms, sealing the bargain like he would with an adult he'd hired on for the season.

Raemond opened his mouth instantly, blue eyes blazing almost black in anger. He put both hands on the table and started to stand, to add momentum to the tantrum he was prepared to throw. Suddenly, his sire's equally cold voice lashed out and took the spark from his son's flaring tirade, his eyes turning on the younger boy.

"And no tantrums or no marks. Tell me, you want it more than your dragon?"

Closing his mouth, the boy paused, half-standing. He thought over the agreement his older brother had made then nodded once, decisively. "I'll do it. You'll see. I'll earn my dragon." With that, Raemond strode quickly from the room, head held high.

Huaratio turned his eyes back up to his sire's, fearful of what the boy's arrogance had unleashed, but the man surprised him by merely nodding and walking back out of the cothold, most likely going back out to harvest.

The ten-turn-old sank into his chair, all the pent up air whooshing out as if a pin had pricked him. That had been close. And now, he'd get a couple of days of freedom before his broth would find something new to rant over and the beatings would start once more.

Not once did Huaratio ever consider that Raemond might really take that deal to heart. He knew his brother too well.

**************

Huamond Cothold, Telgar Hold: 3370.11.21; midday; (10.28.1970)

Slamming an open palm on the wall of the workroom, Raemond's blue eyes snapped indignant fire. He was covered in mud and bruises, his clothing torn from the day's work. He often found himself looking like that at the end of a day . . . but this was the first time he'd been so thoroughly disarranged halfway through a day. Shaking out his shoulder-length auburn tresses, the six-turn-old stalked towards the cothold he shared with his brother and his parents, intent on playing instead of doing this stupid work.

Glancing up, Huaratio's eyes widened in horror. "No!" the whisper was intense for all it was quiet. "Please, Rae, don't! Come back . . ." The ten-turn-old hurried after his little brother, hoping against hope their sire wasn't where he could see the disobedient child. If Huadrae caught Raemond disobeying, it'd be the skin of Huratio's back, and the end of the small amount of marks he was storing up. The older red-head caught up to the younger just outside the small cothold, gripping the boy's shoulder desperately and hissing in a quiet plea for understanding and cooperation. "Please, Rae, you can play in the barn. I don't mind if . . ."

The lad stopped suddenly and tilted his head. The wooden door was slightly ajar, and the brothers could clearly hear Montia and Huadrae talking over their midday meal, which the boys were missing. But, instead of throwing himself into the room, Raemond was as rooted to the spot by what they heard as his brother.

"I don't think he'll continue much longer, Huadrae," their mother's voice drifted softly to the boys. "He's held out so long without once snapping back. I was so afraid that last time that he'd turn and hit a person. Something he's never done before. But, he's going to blow. He won't hold this deal above another day or two. You mark me."

Their sire sighed, and sounded tired and slightly annoyed when he replied, "No, I'm afraid you're right. Raemond is just too spoiled and selfish to stick to his word. He probably will get over wanting a dragon, especially if we tell him how much a queen wouldn't want a cothold boy anyway. But the next tantrum's going to be horrible since he's been thwarted in this. He won't last another day, to my thinking. It was nice while it lasted, though, wasn't it? Well, guess I won't have to be paying Huaratio long, either; that's the upside."

Raemond took his hand from the door, looking up at his brother as Huaratio's hand slacken on the child's shoulder. Humiliation made the older boy's eyes the soft blue of a winter sky. Hanging his head, the older boy trudged away from the cot and the younger lad, back towards the beast pen, as if he, too, had given up on the child.

They thought he'd quit? That he couldn't keep his word? That he couldn't do something as simple as watching a small child? And would they be right?

A small voice calling after him halted the boy in his tracks, "Huaratio, wait! Wait, now!"

Obeying, the older boy turned to watch the younger hurrying as fast as his small legs would carry him. The resignation he'd felt a moment before turned to surprise as the boy slid his hand in Huaratio's, looking up with shining eyes. It was the words, however, that took his breath away.

"I'm sorry, Huaratio. I'll be good so you can get your marks. I know you can get a dragon, and, me, too."

Huaratio straightened, his head coming up and his shoulders going back. Ignoring twinging muscles and tired, aching eyes, the boy nodded once to his brother and started moving towards the barn. Both walked proudly inside to the recalcitrant milchbeast and the younger squatted down to pay careful attention as the elder started trying to milk her again.

His brother's faith in him brought a sense of pride to Huaratio he'd never felt before. Suddenly, he was determined to win their dreams. They'd show them! He'd work hard and Raemond wouldn't even let out a whimper of complaint. He'd get those marks and get his brother to the Weyr. They'd get that dragon and show the world!

In quiet harmony, the two boys worked late into the night, finishing up the chores that had been set them, not once thinking about the missed supper. They were too determined to prove they were worth the dragon they were so tirelessly trying to earn.

**************

Huamond Cothold, Telgar Hold: 3376.05.16; midday; (05.08.1976)

Wiping the sweat from his brow, the sixteen turn old red-head continued tying up the bale of fodder. After six turns of heavy labor, Huaratio's physique had almost completely filled out to the promise he'd held at ten. His dark auburn hair was held off his dirt-etched face with a piece of scrap hide, and his athletic build was barely masked by the worn work clothes he sported.

Next to him, his younger brother worked steadily without a sound. The boy was twelve-turns-old and showed as much promise as his brother had at that age. The rebellious child was still lurking in the boy's fine blue eyes, even after all those turns of quiet, determined cooperation. Huaratio had often noticed that his brother had to stop and control his more imprudent urges to snap back to an order their sire gave. Montia still cringed when the younger came to table at night, as if he'd even raised his voice since that long ago promise Huaratio had made to work for Raemond's dragon marks.

In six turns the brothers had changed a lot. Huaratio was quiet and calm, attentive to what others said, and, most of all, genuinely caring. Raemond was also quiet, but his calm was more of a controlled intelligence; he always seemed to be planning something, though he was obedient. That didn't mean he enjoyed it, nor was the younger boy willing to forgive the total lack of faith his parents had in him or his older brother.

The dragon marks was what really kept them going.

Huaratio knew that Raemond wasn't even sure he wanted a dragon anymore. Sure, what boy doesn't want to have that total dedication or the freedom to go anywhere he wants to on Pern at any time? But, for these boys, the marks no longer meant that elusive ideal of flying on a dragon above the skies. It meant freedom of another kind.

Raemond had never gotten along with their parents. Whether through his fault or theirs, it no longer mattered. Even as a small child, he'd felt like he was more of an obligation than a part of the family, and that had made him lash out. At least his brother loved him.

For his part, the older boy often wondered if his parents hated him because they'd rather have had a girl. It was quite apparent that Huadrae wasn't pleased with his two sons at all. Maybe the wrong children had survived, but Huaratio would be scorched to the Red Star if he'd let them foist that guilt on him or his brother. He hadn't asked to be born to them. He had nothing to do with the fact that no other children had survived above one turn, even if it made it past birth at all. And, he sure as fardles wasn't going to let them think it was his fault they had taken so long to stop giving into Raemond's demands for things . . . when all the child had really wanted for so long was some of their time.

So, if they never got a dragon, what did that matter? Huaratio had learned a lot in the past six turns. The most valuable lesson had been learned one month after starting on this deal. He learned that he could only depend on himself. No one else seemed to think he was worth anything. Actually, Raemond did, and that trust and faith made Huaratio even more determined to get the dragon marks; if not for a dragon, then for freedom at least. A pair of young men could go quite a distance on the marks they were quietly putting away.

Side by side the young man and the youth continued working hard. Long ago, Huadrae had stopped asking if something was worth more than that dragon. In fact, Huaratio was willing to bet that his sire didn't even recall that the marks were supposed to be for a dragon. No, as far as Huadrae was concerned, he was simply paying his older son for work done and no back talk or tantrums from the younger, as if Raemond were an immature baby prone to tantrums now. The man never even offered to pay his younger boy for the added work he was performing, and neither son argued the point.

Huaratio snorted as he hefted the bale of fodder to the cart he was loading. Yes, he'd show them just how complacent he and his brother could really be. And when he had enough marks, he'd leave them with two less drudges to barely tolerate.

**************

Huamond Cothold, Telgar Hold: 3379.12.09; early morning; (11.13.1979)

"Well, I'll be a watchwher's uncle! Harper's gone and got himself invited to Telgar Weyr for a Hatching. Seems his little brother's going to be standing for an egg. And, would you believe, he's inviting us to go, too?" Huadrae stomped into the kitchen, grinning proudly at his wife.

Montia looked surprised, her hand stopping in the process of stirring the porridge. "All the way to Telgar Weyr? How'll we get there? We don't have those kind of ready marks!" She let go of the wooden handle and started twisting her hands in her well-worn apron.

Huaratio and Raemond looked up from the tack they were mending at the table. Raemond's cold blue eyes swept from one parent to another, but neither turned to look at the sixteen-turn-old. Huaratio figured that was probably all right by him. Neither wanted to see the fear in Montia's eyes or the cold disapproval in their sire's.

It wasn't as if the younger man had done anything to earn the man's disapproval, but he had it none-the-less, but not so much as Huaratio had it. A man makes mistakes, after all. The beast breaking down that pen hadn't been either young man's fault. But, why say anything? Huaratio would get blamed whether they argued or not, and neither was about to lose a thirty-second mark in the bargain.

Huadrae smiled as he stilled his wife's nervous hands. "Harper and me've been talking. We'll manage easy. After all, the Weyr offered to send a pair of dragons for us . . . him being a candidate's brother and all."

Montia let hope shine in her eyes and turned back to the cooking fire to prevent breakfast from burning. "And when's this Hatching to be, Huadrae?" Excitement infused her voice. It was pardonable; none of them had ever attending a Hatching, as far as Huaratio knew.

"It should be sometime in the next sevenday or so. Possibly sooner the way the harper's talking. Just think, Montia, someone from Huamond Cothold may walk off with a dragon." Huadrae looked excited and proud.

"Actually, a brother of the Harper of Telgar Hold," Raemond interrupted quietly. He did everything quietly nowadays.

Both parents turned wary eyes on their sons. Raemond ignored the looks, continuing his work. He preferred to work, actually. It helped him avoid those people who'd birthed him then decided to ignore him unless he threw a fit as a child. Huaratio met their stares, however.

Clearing his throat, Huadrae nodded. "Uh . . . true. You'll be coming, too, boys. Won't you?" He sounded hesitant, but determined to make some sort of peace overture. As his sons had grown stronger, the older man had gotten more fearful of them, though that hadn't stopped him from venting his anger if he felt like it.

Huaratio could see that Raemon considered refusing, but one look between the brothers quickly dispelled that notion. If they went with them, the pair could save that much more marks on traveling away from this cothold and these people. "Sure are. I wouldn't miss my chance at becoming a candidate after all these turns of patient working." Raemond stood and turned to his dam. "I won't be eating this morning. I've got work to do."

His older brother followed his lead, throwing an almost blank look at his parents. He nodded once, though the older couple couldn't figure out what it meant, and with that, the tall, determined young man followed his brother from the room, leaving an awkward silence behind.

**************

Telgar Weyr, Telgar Hold: 3379.12.09; midday; (11.13.1979)

Standing amid the guests at Telgar Weyr, Huaratio gripped his younger brother's muscular arm, letting their parents and the others from Telgar Hold get swallowed up in the crowd. They were done with them, thankfully. Now they were in the Weyr and far from that little cothold in Telgar Hold.

Huaratio had no dislike of the cot itself . . . just of those who dwelt there. The long-standing fear and anger had burned itself out turns ago. The humiliation had twisted itself until it was no longer shame but disinterest. He no longer thought he hated his parents. Actually, Huaratio recognized the feeling of disinterest for what it really was . . . they were incompatible. Therefore, the wisest choice for everyone was that he seek his own way in life, bringing his brother along to spare the younger man the repercussions of their sire's wrath. And what better way to start than to bring that bargain from so long ago full circle?

With determination, the nineteen-turn-old tugged the sixteen-turn-old's arm and strode towards the first goldrider he saw. He knew her rank due to the chords attached to her finery. Her dragon's color was also obvious by the deep gold chord wound through the Weyr colors of black and white. So, a goldrider of Telgar Weyr she was . . . and therefore she was someone who could assist the brothers in ending their old life.

"Weyrwoman?" He hid the discomfort he felt in not knowing her name. Like all good Pernese, he knew the name of every dragon and rider in the three Weyrs. He simply didn't have a face to place with most of those names.

The woman turned, smiling from the anticipation of the Hatching. "Yes . . .?"

Raemond supplied the names she sought. "I am Raemond, once of Telgar Hold, and this is my brother Huaratio. I seek to be a candidate for the Hatching." Uncomfortably, Huaratio jumped in, holding up his hand as she opened her mouth, forestalling any words that she might have spoken.

Fortunately, her humor was such that she let the rudeness pass.

"I have the hundred marks required for candidacy, Weyrwoman. It has taken us nine turns to earn these marks, but we have 102 full marks, one half mark, and five thirty-second marks." The brothers waited expectantly for her answer, Raemond exuding confidence, Huaratio less arrogant than his younger brother.

"Nine turns?" She sounded amused. Then her eyes unfocused and she remained silent.

The younger man displayed the patience he'd developed over those long, hard turns. He would let her think about it, not uttering a sound even at her comical expression. The elder man; however, had no need to wait for her answer. He heard every thought that passed between dragon and rider, a skill he had yet to learn that others didn't share.

 _"Well, my love? What think you of these arrogant pups?"_ Amusement took the sting from the woman's query.

 _"Arrogant, yes,"_ the returning mental voice was deeper, more resonant, yet somehow the voice of the rider none-the-less. _"But if they speak the truth, they are hard working and dedicated. They may stand for my eggs; we shall see if they are good enough."_

Finally, the patience paid off, as the rider's eyes focused once more and she smiled at the young men. "That is a great deal of marks . . . and time. Keep the marks. Candidates don't pay. Report to that man by the Hatching Caverns. He's the WeyrlingMaster. He'll get you a robe and make sure you have your marks stored in a safe place. Welcome to Telgar Weyr, Raemond and Huaratio." She nodded amiably, soft laughter at some private joke tinkling as she walked away hurriedly into the general crowd.

Raemond didn't wait to consider her reaction, nor did he give his older brother a chance to puzzle out the odd order; he tugged Huaratio towards the man she'd called WeyrlingMaster.

For his part, Huaratio was lost in his own thoughts. He was not hurt or angered by the knowledge that his fsire had lied to him about the marks. He understood that Huadrae had not known the answer and had created one to control an unruly, even dangerous situation. But the understanding did not make the knowing any more pleasant. Still, it had not been a total loss. He had the equivalent of 103 marks, a disciplined reserve, and more understanding of his family than he'd have gained any other way . . . and his brother had learned the art of patience, a valuable lesson indeed.

"WeyrlingMaster?" Again, Huaratio was conscious of the lack of a name to go with his face. This time, however, the words of a Harper's tune came to him and he was able to match name with rank. Not that the man gave him the time to correct Raemond's omission.

"Candidates? In that room there are robes. Find one that fits. No shoes, no weapons, no hair band, nothing but that robe." He nodded a dismissal then turned back to guide his weyrlings with preparing the meat for the soon-to-hatch dragonets.

Huaratio was actually amused by that curt interview, bemused by the idea that he, too, had become a candidate for the Weyr . . . something never in their plans. He followed his eager brother into the room. Dozens of white robes in all shapes and sizes were there. They were probably remnants of past Hatchings. Huaratio gave a brief, respectful look around. He was almost awed by the amount of history this room contained . . . almost, but not fully. Seeing a robe that looked his size, he grabbed it and held it to his body.

A Humming started and shouts answered as people started racing around outside. Suddenly a crowd of boys of all ages clamored in and started grabbing robes. They were shedding their own clothes so fast, it seemed they'd been practicing for this very moment. Barely glancing at each other, Huaratio and Raemond shed theirs as well, the older red-head keeping a close eye on his mark pouch despite the confusion. Then they were dressed in their robes.

Gripping the pouch in his hand, Huaratio finally took the lead and tugged his brother by the arm, following the mostly younger boys from the room. There they once again encountered the WeyrlingMaster. Holding out the pouch, Huaratio cleared his throat. "These marks need to be saved for me, WeyrlingMaster?" He made the statement a question, so as not to irritate this powerful-seeming man.

Nodding, the man glanced over the brothers once then grabbed the pouch and pocketed it. "Fine, you'll get it back either after the Hatching or after your weyrling training, depending on if you Impress. Line up all!"

The last was called in a loud, commanding voice to the entire group of excited, nervous boys. Then Huaratio was separated from Raemond, shoved roughly into line by a smaller lad. He noticed there were girls and women among the candidates. The nineteen-turn-old had barely enough time to register that fact before the entire group moved solemnly into the great Hatching Cavern. The sands under his feet threatened to burn through to the bone!

Standing in a rough semi-circle with the other candidates, Huaratio didn't even glance at the watching spectators. He didn't want to see if his parents were happy or upset at his new status. It didn't matter. Impression or not, he was about to embark on a whole new life.


End file.
